It Might Have Been Otherwise
by Zubenelschemali
Summary: A new assignment from the Order gives Remus Lupin plenty of time for self pity until a chance encounter offers him some perspective. Rated T for some strong language and adult themes. Ohsoslightly and seamlessly AU. !COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1: Many Meetings

**It Might Have Been Otherwise**

_By Zubeneischemali  
_

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_Disclaimer: This story, the author, this webhost, the reviewers, and all other related parties are in NO WAY connected with J.K. Rowling or her enterprises. Use of character names and plot components from Rowling's works are used in an attempted compliance with the Fair Use clause of copyright law. NO personal gain is intended by the author, etc of this story._

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**Chapter 1: Many Meetings**

A mere three-quarters of an hour into his mission, Remus Lupin's mood was already nearly as black as the rain clouds that had gathered outside the muggle coffee shop where he was stationed. It's hard to look inconspicuous when one is angry. The stack of newspapers on the table before him was steadily decreasing, as was his patience. He angrily tore open a "City & Style" section and found himself staring at a full-page spread entitled "Fashion Emergency No Longer: The Latest Looks in Maternity Chic." A blonde woman smiled seductively up at him from the center of the page, her baby bump wrapped in what appeared to be an enormous sequined sweatband. Well, that was the last straw: he threw down the paper and pushed his chair back from the small, wobbly table.

His place in the Order had recently been re-assigned: given his wife's "delicate condition" (God, how Victorian did _that _sound?) he was removed from active duty and instead placed on mildly safer reconnaissance missions. Currently, his duty was to wade through a vast sea of muggle media looking for hidden clues to Death Eater activities – unexplained deaths, disappearances, and the like. Thus far, he had read three newspapers and although he had no promising leads, he held full knowledge of the latest celebrity gossip, political mudslinging, and three different recipes for 25-minute Meat Loaf. The Daily Prophet was frighteningly quiet and unreliable, but by comparison, the quality of news he was finding here gave increasing credence to the argument of ruling the muggles for their own benefit.

He was about to rise and get another mug of tea – coffee had never quite agreed with him – when he heard a voice immediately behind his head speaking something that sounded like "Dieyooscroosi?" The unfamiliar phrase startled him and the first thought that crossed his mind was _"HEX!" _He whipped around, flailing for his wand and fully expecting some sort of attack when he found himself nose-to-nose with a surprised-looking young woman. "Oh," she said softly, raising her head and taking a cautious step back. "I didn't mean to startle you … I just … the pen … and the news … I …" Her voice got increasingly quiet until she was hardly speaking at all while her face flushed scarlet. "I'll just … go back over here now …" She started to turn towards a hopelessly crowded row of barstools, sticky with spilled drink. Remus felt a sudden surge of remose; he was, after all, taking up a four-chair table in an already packed shop with his sundry stacks of papers and magazines. "No, please. Have a seat." He leaned over and pulled a chair out slightly, shuffling the papers nearest it into a neat pile. She looked relieved as she flopped into it, set down some drink with 4" of whipped cream and multi-colored sprinkles on top, then began rooting around in her purse. "So do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Crucigram."

He froze. Other common muggle phrases had been covered in his cultural briefing, but not this. This sounded distinctly sinister. He began to feel uneasy around this questionable stranger … "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about." She laughed. "Sorry, I mean crosswords." She held up the page of the paper, along with a sparkly pen that had emerged from her handbag. "My great-aunt or something always called them crucigrams, which I guess is Spanish or something but I never really asked …" She happily set to work filling in blocks with unsettling speed, still prattling. He tuned out her words as he studied her. Average in height and weight, maybe a bit taller, with a navy cotton dress that didn't seem to quite fit the weather, though it fit her form well enough. Her hair was of a sandy blonde color that was neither particularly attractive nor gaspingly unattractive. She wore little make-up and didn't seem to notice that some hair had come out of her clip and were obscuring her face. " … so I suppose that when I'm old and feeble my mind will still be sharp, just like hers was," she finished resolutely. She stopped writing and looked up at him – her eyes were a startling shade of blue that he hadn't expected to be nestled in amongst otherwise plain features. Her brows furrowed slightly. "I'm sorry, I'm rambling again. Tell me to shut it at any point." She smiled sweetly. "But less about me … God, excuse me, I must be distracting you from working."

"NO!" Remus pushed the stack of newspapers away hurriedly and she looked at him with surprised apprehension. "No, not at all. I'm just combing through." He put on a closed-lipped smile, pleased for the excuse to stop. "I don't believe I know your name."

She mirrored his smile. "Julia," she said softly. "Julia Kole. I'm new-ish to … well, Europe in general. I grew up in Maryland, in The States." Suddenly aware she had answered the question and more, she quickly redirected. "And you? What's your name?"

"Remus," he replied, then mentally cursed himself for blowing his cover to smithereens. "It's a nickname," he added weakly. She cocked her head. "For what?"

"Re …. mford. Remford Watts. Pleased to meet you!" He extended a hand too quickly, hoping the sudden enthusiasm would make him seem at ease, and knocked his hand against her drink. It tipped dangerously but she caught it before it dropped over the table's edge. Her hand sticky with sloshed-over cappuccino, she seemed more nervous than convinced as she shook his gingerly. _Bugger,_ he swore mentally, _bugger bugger bugger I was supposed to lay low and not be memorable, oh bloody hell …_ "Can I just call you Remford?"

Her question jerked him back from his internal scold-fest. "Err, yeah, that'd be fine."

"Alright then. Remford. Pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise."

They sat in awkward silence for a moment before she ducked her head back to her crossword, kneading her bottom lip between her teeth. He slowly reached for a newspaper and flipped idly through its pages. Beauregard the Bungee-Jumping Beagle had passed away at the ripe old age of 13 and his obituary was five inches, above the fold. _This day keeps getting better,_ he groaned inwardly, and returned to his quest.

However, the day _wasn't_ a total waste – as time wore on, he found he and Julia made an efficient pair. In the time it took him to scan a paper for any mention of suspicious activity, Julia would finish a crossword and be ready for whatever the next paper brought her. Despite the vast quantity of knowledge he had amassed in his years as a wandering professor, he was bereft of knowledge about Olympic team captains and the exports of small African countries, so before long she stopped asking him for help and started asking personal questions. Was he a London native? Did he have any pets? A family? What did he do when he wasn't reading newspapers in a coffee shop all day? The persona of Remford Watts grew easier and easier to slip into as he answered each question; mostly because he answered more-or-less truthfully with a few salient exclusions. He learned about her, as well. She was an aspiring writer with a Master's Degree in English literature from the Edwardian period and was here to pursue "the inspiration of the mother country," as she called it. She had a cat named Claudia. She only drank caffeine on weekends. The time seemed to pass more quickly now that he wasn't alone, and he found himself enjoying her company.

She was interesting enough, she seemed rather sweet, and most importantly, she was beyond the reaches of the war that clouded almost all of his waking thoughts. It was intensely liberating to have a conversation in a normal tone of voice without worrying about who overheard or what great secrets he may accidentally release. Her greatest concern of the moment was that she had left her umbrella in the taxi, not that everyone she knew and loved was in grave danger at every moment of every day. As the clock ticked on he found himself relaxing more and more, opening and questioning and even breathing easier. It was almost like a vacation from reality.

"Oh damn it, I made a mistake." She frowned and tried to superimpose a new letter over the incorrect one. "That's the problem with doing cruces in pen – you have to be vigilant about never making an error."

_Vigilance._

_Vigilance!_

_Constant vigilance!_

Alastor Moody's warning crossed his brain like an electric shock. He realized that he hadn't forgotten his reality, he had merely had something playing louder than it for a short while. A bead of sweat popped on his forehead as he glanced at the clock and realized more than three hours had passed. _Have I revealed too much? Could she be a clever spy? Am I in danger at this very moment? Have I given away anything I can't take back? _He cast a furtive glance around the coffee shop. _I'll finish this paper and I'll leave, get back to base, change my disguise, never come back –_

"Remford, are you all right?" Julia had paused her crosswording and was looking at him with a worried expression. "You look like you've got voices in your head telling you the government's out to get you. Like X-Files or something." He gulped, trying to compose himself and look casual. "Err, I just remembered I've got some things to do … return phone calls, that sort of thing. I've got to go." He swept the newspapers and pencils he had brought into a canvas messenger bag at his feet. "Yes, very important," He licked his lips. "It's nice meeting you, dear, have fun with your puzzles and Henrik Ibsen and whatnot …" He started for the door.

"Wait!" She stood, he turned, they stared. Awkwardness reigned supreme. "It was … yeah. Nice meeting you Remford." She shifted from one foot to the other. "Maybe we'll meet again." He nodded leadenly, aware that it was a statement of fact rather than a flirtatious question. Still, as he stepped out into the angry weather, _wrong wrong wrong _beat time with the raindrops on his battered cap.


	2. Chapter 2: Night Musings

**Chapter 2: Night Musings**

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_Disclaimer: Only partially the author's brainchild, and not at all the author's rent cheque. For full disclaimer please refer to Chapter 1._

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Remus Lupin was a coward. Harry Potter had told him so, and he seemed to be right about most things, intentionally or otherwise. He still stung from the argument and prayed for an opportunity to right it, but as he lay in bed next to the still form of his wife, he considered the truth to the insult. If he were half so brave as Moody had thought him, or a quarter so wise as Dumbledore had hoped, he would be infiltrating the ministry or something exciting. At the very least, he'd be doing something of more direct use to the Order, rather than cowering amongst muggles. _May God have mercy on both their souls, _Remus thought of the two great men. _And give them a square kick to the trousers for finding rest – albeit deservedly – and leaving the rest of us to a world of ash and sorrow, _he added with uncharacteristic cynicism.

At this moment Tonks let out a trainwreck-sounding snore and flopped over onto his half of the bed, her limp hand thwapping him squarely on the chest. It was as if her unconscious was chastising his subconscious. He turned his head to look at her with a wearied expression. Not two feet from him lay the woman he adored more than any living being, for whom he had confessed his love in front of all the people whose opinions he held in esteem, who refused to accept all the logical reasons the world had shown him that said he was unlovable. The woman whose charms had beguiled a desperate man into a momentary loss of sanity (or so he justified it, those many, many momentary losses of sanity) and now they were both paying the price. _Once again, the moon intervenes to ruin my life._ He immediately felt a knife stab of shame for his attitude. If not for the war, for his own failings, for any number of other circumstances at play, this should have been the happiest time of his life. _But all those things are real, and here, and inescapable. It's the cowardice in my bones that makes me wish it weren't so, I suppose, that makes me blame the being whose existence means the most to me. _He dragged a hand across his face as though wiping away a cobweb, then rolled onto his side to but an arm over Tonks' abdomen. He patted the swelling bulge in a gesture of apology, but even to himself he felt as though its sincerity questionable at best.

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_Author's Note: Short chapter, I know. I apologize. We will return to our regularly scheduled programming in the next chapter but I felt this one needed to stand alone._


	3. Chapter 3: Something Found

**Chapter 3: Something Found**

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_Disclaimer: Not J.K. Rowling's work, not profitable. For full disclaimer please refer to chapter 1._

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His days continued on much as they had since he had received his assignment, made bearable only by his frequent encounters with Julia and the opportunity it gave him to almost pretend that his life bore some vague semblance of normality. The very sight of his wife was beginning to repulse him. Had the circumstances been different he would have found it oddly beautiful, the way her body was expanding in all directions, her curves softening, her face and hair remaining more consistent as she lacked the energy to change them as often as she once had. But as it stood, every time her robes fit a little too snugly across her midsection it served as a poignant reminder of the crime he had committed in bringing to life another monster like himself. Hagrid had done research on his behalf and still held out hope that the child would not be born furry. The mere sight of Hagrid bent over a book with a look of unbreakable concentration on his eyes, devotedly mouthing words to himself, had been enough to bring a sad smile to Remus's eyes. It had made him long for their Hogwarts days, when the world seemed so much more full of possibility. As much as he tried, Lupin found it impossible not to dwell in the realm of fantasy/possibility. "If the world were not upside-down," he had once read in some muggle editorial, "where would you find a place to stand?

Some weeks later, he found himself sprawled in a lopsided loveseat in a dingy, poorly-lit corner of the café usually occupied by only a necking couple and a very pathetic-looking spider-plant. Across from him sat Julia, her legs folded in some sort of weird configuration ("yogi lotus position" she intoned mystically) on a wooden chair she had dragged over from the main area. A magazine lay open on the coffee table between them and she was intently reading an article about some scandal or another in the British Royal Family. "I don't think the paparazzi is quite this vicious back home," she said absently. "It's terrible. Like a car accident. You hate to be caught looking, but you also hate to miss anything." "Mmm," Remus replied, not really listening. He was carefully going over an article about a fire that consumed three homes in a nearby suburb and actively resisted being put out. _This could be interesting, _he thought to himself before circling the headline twice with a green felt pen.

"How's your family?"

Julia's voice caught him off guard as he was trying to tear the page out. The last half-inch corner of the article was severed by an accidental jerk of his hand. "Huh? Oh, right. Lovely." She narrowed her eyes. "You've gone and gotten all distracted again. Find something interesting in that newspaper?"

"No," he said too quickly. "I just think I'm going to go take a walk now. Or something." He cursed himself again mentally, praying she didn't read into his anxiety. His prayers go unanswered. "If something's bothering you, we can talk about it," she said softly. She rested a hand on his arm and he could feel the heat of her palm. Their eyes locked for several seconds before he finally turned away. "I'll be fine," he muttered over his shoulder. "See you later." Stuffing the article in the pocket of his folded coat, he slung the strap of his bag over his shoulder and strode out the door. He did not notice his cap lying, forgotten, on the other cushion of the loveseat.

A low whistle caught Remus's attention almost immediately after he crossed the street. Leaning against a post box was Kingsley Shacklebolt, done up in muggle clothes. A leather jacket stretched unearthly tight across his broad shoulders and he held a lit cigarette in his hand, though he showed no intention of actually smoking it. "What news?" he said casually. He was doing a champion job of looking thoroughly disinterested while he was actually taking in ever acute detail of his surroundings. _Bloke could probably tell how many cats an old lady had by looking at her jumper, _Remus mused to himself. "Yes, in fact. I'm not sure what this means, but I know it means something …." He pulled the article from his pocket and handed it to Kingsley, who read it with a dark expression growing on his face. "This needs to be brought to the attention of the Order. Even if we can't do much in terms of assistance, it's a sign … the violence is escalating. The Death Eaters are growing more fearless." He flicked the cigarette to the ground and stomped it out with undue ferocity, as though the tobacco itself held the essence of Dolohov or Lestrange.

Remus turned and started to walk away, hoping to find a quiet place to Apperate home. "We're not done," Shacklebolt intoned, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Who's the muggle?"

Remus blanched. "What muggle?"

Shacklebolt narrowed his eyes. "The girl. In the café. The one you talk to every time you're here."

Lupin shrugged. "She's nice," he offered by way of pathetic explanation.

Shacklebolt scanned the horizon for a moment. "Developing a regular location, a signature MO, a set pattern … in days like this, these things are unwise." He then turned to Lupin, his eyes boring into the smaller man. "And forming unnecessary attachments? Very unwise indeed." He paused. "And it of course goes without saying that if you hurt Tonks anymore than you already have, I'll have to hurt you."

"You'd have to take a number. Starting behind myself and her."

With a laugh, Kingsley slapped him on the back and he jolted with the force. "You are a good man, Remus. I value the work you're doing, as does the rest of the Order. You realize this, right? How indispensable you are to the effort?"

"Yes," Remus lied, overtaken by a weary sigh


	4. Chapter 4: To Hell

**Chapter 4: To Hell  
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_Disclaimer: I'm a poor artist, not JK Rowling. JKR wrote the original Harry Potter series and I'm just playing with her characters. No infringements intended.  
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It was not long after parting company with Shacklebolt that Remus note something was missing, and not long after that when he realized it was his cap. He had not yet gone home and found it an easy enough to double-back towards the café in the hopes that no one had claimed it. Not that he could see why they would; it looked as though it had been through a war. _Maybe it will be, _he mused in response to this thought. _But will the head make it as well? _He banished the thought as the shop came into view. He swung the door open wide just as someone exiting tried to open it with her back, resulting in a violent collision of bodies and hot beverage. "Christ!" the woman spat, glaring. "Can't you watch what you're – oh. Hello Remford." Julia's irritation left her as quickly as it had come. "I'm so sorry, I'm as clumsy as they come, when they made me I swear I probably dropped the mold –"

"It's alright, it's alright," he said quickly, surveying the damage. Somehow, his entire front – from his collar to nearly his naval – was a single, giant brown blotch. A _hot,_ giant, brown blotch. He could have easily charmed it clean again, but not here, not now.

"My wife is just as clumsy, I assure you this is nothing new." A pang shot through him at the mention of Tonks; so distracted was he by it that he missed Julia's violent wince. She began to wipe at the stain with her hand, as though any good could be done by _that_. "I am so useless," she said, mostly to herself. Remus tipped her chin up with a coffee-damp finger. "Don't say that," he intoned quietly. "Don't say such things." Her eyes held his for a moment before returning quickly to his shirt. "We've got to do something to remedy – I KNOW IT! Something about baking soda and tonic. My grandmum taught me. Come along." Before Remus could protest effectively – though protest he did, copiously and loudly, as they went – he found himself being dragged by the arm towards the dingy stone apartment building the young woman called home.

A sour-looking old woman was water an overgrown plant on her windowsill when the pair skittered past, and she paused to cast them an evil glare through the open window. "It's not like this –" Remus choked out before he was jerked up a staircase. The inside of the building was nearly as sad as the outside, and Lupin found himself transported back to his younger days, when money was impossible to come by and accommodations similar to (or worse than) these. The reality check was painful to him and he was still lost in thought when they stopped at the end of the hall on the second floor. Julia fumbled her keys and finally tossed the door open, looking flustered.

"I'm sorry it's not very clean, I haven't had a chance to tidy."

Remus mumbled something about it being no problem at all, but as he scanned the room, he didn't see dirty, he saw poor. Most of the mess consisted of books and papers that exceeded surfaces to contain them. He took a hesitant step inwards, not so much as pausing to muse on whether or not this was a cleverly-laid trap. His ears were ringing with the familiarity of the scene: scavenged old newspapers, mostly-empty cupboards, a few clothes on wire hangers, exposed where the previous tenant had unhinged the closet door and never cared to repair it. He turned and found Julia still in the doorway, her eyes glued to the floor and her ears glowing crimson with humiliation. Apparently their meetings were a respite from her _own_ kind of grim reality as his.

"Really, you don't have to worry about the stain." _I have other shirts, _he wanted to say, but realized that wouldn't improve things.

"No, please. It's my fault. Take a seat." She gestured to a cracked table near the kitchen-area with a single chair. He wanted to chastise her for her habit of apologizing for _everything,_ but again, he didn't think it would make the situation any less painful for her – or for him. He watched her with a concerned expression as she searched every cabinet, cupboard, draw, and shelf before finding a half-empty box of hard-caked baking soda in the back of the freezer. "Ah," she said, almost too brightly. "Here we go. Now off with that garment."

He gulped. "Beg pardon?"

"I'll run some water in the bath, add this, and it'll lift it. It'd work better if I had some tonic, but …" she trailed off, glancing absently towards the refrigerator. "Hurry up, we don't want it to set totally."

"I'm not sure that'd be proper." He licked his lips nervously. However much empathy he felt for her, this situation would not do at all. She rolled her eyes at his perceived modesty. "What if I turned my back?"

"I'd have nothing to put on it its place."

"I'm sure I can find something. Off!"

He could see no way of winning without being rude, and Remus Lupin was nothing if not polite when he was a guest in an almost-stranger's house. He quickly unbuttoned the once-white garment and laid it on the table, then folded his arms in his lap, his elbows tucked tightly to his body. He felt desperately exposed in more than just a literal sense.

"Fantastic. Wait here and I'll set to work." Her tone was business-like, but her eyes lingered a millisecond too long – what expression was that? Longing? Guilt? Indigestion as brought on by an overload of strong coffee? He could hear her in the side bathroom, running a bit of water and banging the box on the already-cracked tile in an attempt to loosen the powder. A moment later she re-emerged, her hands red from swirling the shirt in hot water. She wiped them on her skirt. "Now, let's get you back in some clothes before Ms. Crimplebothom downstairs calls the decency police." She laughed and turned her back to him, obviously expecting him to follow. With a sigh, he rose and did so, depositing his coat on the single rusted hook by her front door.

Her bedroom was small even by his standards and her clothes were mostly stored in large cardboard boxes. She dug around in one until she found a man's sweater and held it aloft with a victious yelp. "Aha! I knew I had it somewhere." It was dark navy with countless bits of lint and little holes in the sleeves where he imagined one could put one's thumbs. It very much reminded him of one Sirius had once owned. This recognition hit him hard and he visibly winced. Julia's face flushed again and she folded it in half. "Is something wrong? Not a sweater person?"

"No!" His voice was a bit strained as grief ran in his veins, as fresh as when it had first happened. "I mean no, it's quite fine. Are you sure you'd like me to wear it? Wouldn't someone notice its absence? A … err … a boyfriend, perhaps?"

Her face darkened to a near-inhuman shade of red and he realized he was bollocksing everything as he always seemed to. He never should have crossed the threshold. She was nice and thoroughly undeserving of the unwitting pain he had a tendency to inflict from time to time. "No, not a boyfriend. It … it belonged to my fiancé. It was his favorite, in fact. He wore it until it could hardly be worn anymore and then he tossed it." She gave a little laugh. "A habit of his with many things."

"Won't he notice I'm wearing his old sweater and come try to turn my face inside-out if I run across him in a Tube station?"

"He's never been to England, either." Her flush had faded slightly but she was now gnawing on her lower lip again in a steady, mindless rhythm. "We … I …" She inattentively ran her thumb over her left ring finger. "The engagement was broken. I've not seen him in some months." _The engagement was broken. _The cautious use of passive voice was not lost on Remus's acutely professor-ish mind.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be," she responded firmly, then fell silent. The looked at each other with mixed expressions. When he realized she had no intention of elaborating and he had no intention of pressing the topic, he reached for the sweater. "I appreciate this. I really do." She remained motionless until he touched the wool, then her hand snapped out from beneath its scratchy folds, grabbing his wrist with a grasp that was at once gentle and form. Unrelenting. Imploring. Her pained eyes never left his as he staggered backwards.

"Julia, please let go." Her grip tightened. "Julia, I said –"

"Dammit, Remford, you're the only decent thing that's happened to me in a year, maybe more. It's like the world is different when you're in it." Her voice faded to a croak and he realized she was near tears. His heart felt like it was ripping in two – his grief for his fallen friends, his empathy for her life situation, the bitterness of his own and the recognition that pretending it wasn't there when you were in a different corner of it was sometimes the best you could hope for. He opened his mouth to speak but she leapt forward, sealing his mouth shut with a violent kiss. He pushed her back, his voice hoarse and husky. "No, no, I can't, STOP! My wife!"

"To hell with her and to hell with us." She slid her arms around his waist and he suddenly became acutely aware that it was nearly a full moon. As her nails scrabbled for purchase on his back, the wolf that lurked constantly beneath the surface overtook the logical majority of his brain. It was the wolf that seized her shoulders and made him run his teeth across her bottom lip. It was the wolf the felt for the zipper of her skirt behing her back while she gasped and pled inarticulately into his ear. As they toppled backwards onto her ancient mattress, blood roared in his ears with such volume that the Professor Voice in his head pounding _WRONG! WRONG! WRONG! WRONG! _grew dimmer with every thudding heartbeat.

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_To be continued ..._

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	5. Conclusion:  And Back

**Conclusion (Chapter 5): ... And Back, In Redemption **

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_Disclaimer: Please see Chapter 1 for full disclaimer. Not my characters, just my story, no reprinting without permission. Opening and closing quotes are public domain._

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_**"Blessed is the one whose transgression is forgiven,**_

_**whose sin is covered.**_

_**Blessed is the man against whom none hold iniquity,**_

_**and in whose spirit there is no deceit.**_

_**For when I kept silent, my bones wasted away**_

_**through my groaning all day long.**_

_**For day and night your hand was heavy upon me;**_

_**my strength was dried up as by the heat of summer."**_

_**- Psalm 37:1-4**_

Remus woke in a post-coital haze and wondered for a moment why Ted and Andromeda's lovely wizard house suddenly had a cracked ceiling that had been discolored by leaking water and possibly nesting bugs. A second later he shot straight up, his eyes wide with what he had done. "Oh _god …."_ He couldn't help but groan as he looked across the bed to the supine silhouette next to him, only a shaggy mop of blonde hair sticking above the sheets. He dressed slowly and silently, trying to process his motivations. Tonks would curse him dead the moment he crossed the threshold. Hell, _he_ would finish the job for her. He had to sit to put on his shoes and hoped the edge of the mattress didn't creak. As he leaned over to tie his shoes, something dawned on him.

_Bloody Merlin, I really _am _a coward_, he thought miserably, paralyzed by his own self-loathing. He lay back down on the bed, now fully-clothed, and folded his hands across his stomach.

His eyes wandered not across the nude woman near him but across the dingy room lit with late-afternoon sunlight. A sudden calm came across him as he thought of what had led to this, of his own revelations about the state of Julia and himself and his family and the world. Dust particles danced in the sunlight and he stared at them pensively. This had been a mistake of the highest order, there was no doubt about that, but decades as an on-again-off-again professor had taught him mistakes were the best teachable moments of. Of all the spells in the world, weren't only three considered Unforgivable? Of all the acts in the world, how many of _those_ were unforgivable as well? He was undecided about what to say to Tonks – that would come later. So would hexes, broken crockery, a general scattering of woodland animals, and probably tears, and – if he was lucky – a forgiving embrace. For now he had to explain this to himself first.

To be forgiven, he had to make peace with his own wrongs, even in his own mind. He sighed. Harry had been right all along – the creation of a child was something to be met with joy, no matter what the circumstance. His own inability to deny his love for Tonks had made her his wife, and an outcast, and yet she chose to love him still and for this he could not be more grateful. The sacrifices of his friends and loved ones had brought each of them vital steps closer to defeated evil once and for all. Ignoring the harsh points of reality was as deceptive and dangerous as the Mirror of Erised. To dream and pretend and conceal was to mask just as much the good things that remained as the bad things that found a way to dominate his thoughts. More than ever, he wanted to go home to Tonks and beg for her to pardon his coldness. He wanted to greet his new son or daughter with open arms and tears of welcome. Most pressingly, he wanted to find Harry and friends to make amends before it was too late. He rose too quickly and fell against the wall as blood rushed out of his head. The noise woke Julia, who stretched languidly and gazed up at him with a groggy sleep-smile. "Good morning," she said quietly. "Wait, is it morning?"

He gazed down at her, his moment of revelation broken. He felt himself flush as he sought out what to say. _Sorry, I'm not an angsty wanker anymore, this has to end? _Or _Thanks, I'll call next time I'm wallowing in a pit of despair? _Nothing was right, nothing fit, nothing would change. _Or would it?_ He thought of the least he could do and pulled out his wand, giving it a swish. The room tidied, the items most in need of repair found themselves fixed, and a pot of tea set to boiling itself on the newly-working stove top. He paused, then flicked it again: two newspapers landed squarely on the breakfast table, one open to a deliciously difficult crossword and the other to a _Help Wanted_ page. Finally, with a jab of finality, a cheery vase of daisies landed on the windowsill. He surveyed his work with chagrin. _It's not much, _he mused, _but sometimes it doesn't TAKE much for one to find a change. _He turned back to the woman, now wide awake and clutching the sheet, her face crinkled in terror. A sad smile crossed his face. "I wish you luck," he said quietly. "I've been there, and now I'm here, and while fairytales aren't real …" He chuckled. A _wizard_ bemoaning fairytales. He was starting to sound like a muggle inspirational poster and saw nothing else to be done, so he leaned down to her and tapped the wand on her head with extreme gentleness.

"_Obliviate."_

The sleep-smile returned to her face and she gazed up at him with happy wonderment, as though she knew his memory inspired some affection but she couldn't quite place where she'd seen him. He took this as his cue to Disapperate before her she came-to and began wondering why a strange man was standing in her bedroom. He re-emerged in The Tonks family garden, where an anxious Andromeda spied him through the window and came hurrying out to usher him inside. A ponderously pregnant Tonks was sitting on the couch looking thoroughly bored. Their eyes met, and the love in her eyes clouded his own with tears. He knelt beside her and hugged her as though nothing could ever pry them apart.

"Why the sudden affection?" Her face was resting on his shoulder such that he could feel her words as much as hear then.

His answer came out hoarse but coherent:

"Because, despite everything, it's possible."

--------------------

_I got out of be on two strong legs._

_It might have been otherwise. _

_I ate cereal, sweet milk, ripe, flawless peach. _

_It might have been otherwise._

_I took the dog uphill to the birch wood._

_All morning I did the work I love._

_At noon I lay down with my mate. _

_It might have been otherwise._

_We ate dinner togethe at a table with silver candlesticks. _

_It might have been otherwise._

_I slept in a bed in a room with paintings on the walls, and planned another day just like this day._

_But one day, I know, it will be otherwise._

**_-- Jane Kenyon_**


End file.
